January 1st, 3040
Mercenary Review Board Registration Bureau
Galatea City,.Galatea
A short, stocky woman came jogging up to Thomas and his companion, a lawyer from Bismarck and Family, Ltd.
“Sorry I’m late boss,” she wheezed. “Got held up at the bank.”
“Not a problem Ronnie,” he said. “Mr. Freydrich and I are going through a few final details before our appointment.”
After a moment his curiosity got the better of him.
“What did you need at the bank?” he asked.
Sergeant Rhonda “Ronnie” Rickert gave a wide grin, and the held up a roll of coins.
“Had to do some currency exchange. Kroner for C-bills.”
Thomas’ curiosity grew. He arched an eyebrow.
“C-bills?” he asked.
Ronnie nodded. “Don’t know where we’re going next. Can’t get a good exchange rate for Kroner outside Lyran space, so I did it here.”
Thomas gave her a cool look.
“You couldn’t have waited until after our appointment for that? he asked.
She shrugged. “Never know when you’re going to need currency. Besides, this is a ComStar facility. What if they don’t take Kroner? What if I want to use a vending machine or something?”
Thomas stifled a sigh. He took a moment to look her over.
Ronnie had been a career noncom with the AFFC before agreeing to become his senior NCO. Her method of dress for the occasion of the founding was somewhere between “job interview” and “court appointment”. She was wearing what appeared to be a standard business suit so new it still smelled faintly of polymer. It was close to her size, but obviously had not been tailored,
“No weapons?” he asked. Weaponry on the grounds of the MRB’s home offices was strictly prohibited.
She shook her head.
“Nope. Left the big iron behind. Not even carrying my knuckle dusters.”
Thomas nodded, trying not to show his relief. Ronnie was tough, but small. She had won every fight he was aware she had ever been in, largely through the impressive array of weapons she tended to keep on her person.
“In any event,” he said, “it’s time. You’re still in?”
Her smile go wider.
“Working for you? Not anyone else? Being senior NCO? You bet. Mercenary armor’s mostly garrison work anyway, and that ass Von Frisch doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
Thomas reflexively started to admonish her for demeaning a superior officer, and then stopped. There was no need for that anymore, was there?
The three of them stepped through the double doors of the hiring hall, to be immediately greeted by a woman in the robes of a ComStar Adept. She smiled warmly and held out a hand.
“Colonel Schaller?” she said, “I am Serena Aguilar. I will be assisting you in the formation of your company today,”
“Thank you,” said Thomas, “But I’m afraid I am properly referred to as a Kommandant or Major, rather than as a Colonel.”
“Well,” said the Adept. “That will change very soon. This way, please.”
She led the way through the lobby and down a short hallway. She, the two soldiers, and the lawyer eventually stopped in front of a small, glass-doored conference room. Aguilar held the door for the others, then took a seat on one side of the table while the rest sat on the other side.
“So,” she began, “Your bond has been posted, and so you are a few details away from officially forming a Board-certified mercenary company. First, I will require that you read and certify that you understand the contract that you are signing with the board. This is the same contract that you were asked to review during the period that your bond was pending, so I don’t expect that there will be any surprises.”
She slid a clipboard with a disconcertingly large stack of papers on it to Thomas, who then slid them to Mr. Freydrich. The lawyer paged through them, checking for inconsistencies.
Thomas mostly ignored him. ComStar had been in the business of bonding mercenaries for literally centuries. They were the only game in town, as it were. Even if the lawyer found something he disliked, there wasn’t much that he, Thomas, or anyone outside of ComStar could do about it.
There also wasn’t much reason to worry. There were hundreds of mercenary outfits throughout the Inner Sphere. While many of them ended up going under, the MRB contract was only really a concern for those that didn’t understand its contents. Thomas had hired a law firm specifically to help him navigate its clauses, and they had come highly recommended.
After a few long minutes of silence the lawyer looked up from the stack of papers. He nodded, and handed the clipboard to Thomas. Adept Aguilar spoke once again.
“Both you, as representative of your officer corps, and your Master Sergeant will be required to sign. You for your understanding of the contract requirements, and both you and Sergeant Rickert to assert your understanding of the Laws of War.”
Thomas flipped to the last page of the document, affixing his signature to the proper locations with a provided stylus. He handed the clipboard to Ronnie, who made an energetic show of signing her own name. She handed the document back to the Adept.
“Congratulations Colonel,” said the ComStar representative. “You have one last hurdle, and it is a minor one. You will want to register a name, symbol, and livery with the MRB’s offices at some point. Technically only the name is required, but the rest are valuable pieces of information to prospective employers that choose to contract with the MRB.
Thomas nodded. “Thank you, Adept. I have a livery scheme in mind, and I’ll have a name and logo submitted within the week.”
With that, Aguilar stood, holding out a hand two the two soldiers.
“I expect that we will be doing a fair amount of business with you in the future. I wish you the best of fortune with your new enterprise. Make Blessed Blake smile upon you.”
Thomas took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. The grip was extended to Ronnie, who pumped it vigorously before the group was led out of the conference room and back to the lobby.
Mr. Freydrich turned to the other two.
“For the moment I believe that concludes our business,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Freydrich,” said Thomas. “Your firm has been most helpful.”
The tall, brown haired lawyer bowed slightly in acknowledgement.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Colonel. If you will excuse me.”
With that the lawyer turned away, heading for a row of communications booths.
“Got a name in mind Boss?” asked Ronnie as the two soldiers headed to the exit,
Thomas shrugged.
“A few,” he said. “But nothing terribly catchy. I considered naming us after my home planet, but ‘New Earth Armor’ isn’t terribly catchy, and might get us sued by NETC for trademark infringement.”
“That,” said Ronnie, “is a terrible name.”
“I haven’t thought of anything better. I considered ‘Armored Solutions’ as a name, but it turns out there’s a corporation using that name already. I’ve barely had time to consider a name between getting our finances squared away and working with the lawyers.”
The two walked through the doors of the MRB building and headed back towards their hotel. Thomas was now several hundred thousand C-bills poorer, and thinking about how much the simple, but clean and respectable hotel was costing him had him fretting about money already.
“I’ve got a name for you,” said Ronnie after a bit, as the two walked along.
Thomas turned to regard her. He was about to ask her for her suggestion when a bit of motion from the alley they were passing caught his eye. A hand flashed out of the darkened alley, grabbing Ronnie by the collar and dragging her half into it. A kitchen knife flecked with what Thomas hoped were rust spots appeared at Ronnie’s throat.
“Turn out your pockets,” said a hoarse voice. “Gimme your money.”
A tall, gaunt man wearing the close-cropped hairstyle of a mechwarrior but ill-fitting clothes that were obviously not purchased for him stood behind the Sergeant.
Thomas held up his empty hands to show he was unarmed. He began to reach into his coat for his wallet when Ronnie made her move.
She abruptly stepped to the side, the chipped edge of the knife drawing a thin line of blood on her throat as she did so. She reached behind her between her attacker’s legs, gripped, and squeezed.
Thomas winced. He’d seen Ronnie break free bolts with one hand that he could swear required a spanner. The would-be mugger squealed in pain and dropped the knife, stumbling backward into the alley.
Ronnie fished in her pocket for the roll of coins she had gotten from the bank. She tucked it solidly into a fist, kissed the fist, and the lept into the alley.
Thomas did not watch what happened next, but the meaty thud of Ronnie’s fists and the yelps of the muggers pain could be heard as he walked to a call box to call the police.
After filing his report, and be assured that a patrol was on its way, Thomas returned to the alley. Ronnie was wiping blood off of her hands with a scrap of what had been the mugger’s clothing. A pile of coins rested at her feet, near the broken plastic wrapper that had contained them.
“You all right?” asked Thomas. He removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and knelt next to his senior noncom, dabbing at the shallow wound across her throat.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Genius here must be desperate, hitting us so close to the ComStar compound. Dispossessed scum.”
“The police will be here shortly,” said Thomas. “They’ll take care of him.”
Ronnie took the handkerchief from Thomas and held it to her own throat, still muttering unprintable things about the now unconscious body in the alley.
“Out of curiosity,” asked Thomas, “What was the name you had in mind?”
Ronnie looked confused for a moment, and then smiled.
“Schaller’s Shellbacks,” she said.
“That,” replied Thomas, “Is a terrible name.”